


worked it out (but learned it hard)

by herax



Series: Bracca AU [1]
Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bullying, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Hurt Cal Kestis, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herax/pseuds/herax
Summary: While visiting another scrapyard on Bracca, Prauf meets a stranger who's stuck in an unfortunate situation.[Set pre-game. A 'what if Cal started out in a worse scrapyard' fic.]
Relationships: Cal Kestis & Prauf
Series: Bracca AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942612
Comments: 10
Kudos: 127





	worked it out (but learned it hard)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what the canon ages are but for the purposes of this fic, Cal is 14 when Order 66 happens and 19 at the start of the game. This is written with the intention that he's of-age when the fic takes place but exact ages are never specified (mostly because I don't know how years work in Star Wars) so please approach with caution if this is a tricky area. <3
> 
> Thank you to filo for the constant enthusiasm. :)

The first time Prauf sees the kid is when he runs straight into his chest.

He’s scrawny enough that Prauf stays standing with ease and he looks down in confusion as the kid stumbles backwards, eyes darting between Prauf and Dren as he stammers, “I- Sorry.”

The dark bruise blooming around his eye definitely didn’t come from the collision. Curious, Prauf looks closer, seeing the old scars scratched across the kid’s face and the far more recent marks from what look like fingers being pressed against his jaw. 

Between those and the lingering redness around the kid’s mouth, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d been doing in the overseer’s office before making his exit. Ignoring Dren’s noise of impatience, Prauf reaches out a hand to the kid’s shoulder to steady him as he asks, “Everything okay in there?”

From Dren’s huff beside him, it’s not the most subtle question but the kid just nods, shrugging Prauf’s hand off him. 

“All good,” the kid says with an unconvincing smile. “Sorry to get in your way.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Prauf says, at the same time as Dren asks bluntly, “The overseer in there still?”

The kid glances between the two of them, a strand of red hair falling in his face as his head turns. “Uh, yeah. Overseer Lynd’s right inside.”

Dren puts on that weird, insincere smile that all the comms guys seem to think is friendly. “Great.” He pats Prauf on the shoulder, encouraging him forward. “Thanks for your help.”

Prauf resists the encouragement. He lingers in the hallway, not getting any closer to the kid but not moving along either. “Anything you can tell us about the overseer?”

The kid frowns, immediately suspicious, and Prauf explains, “We’re, uh, visiting. From the Vichas yard. Y’know, a few hours over to the west?”

He hears Dren sigh behind him but he ignores it as he presses on, “We came to pick up some parts for a couple of our machines but we don’t know much about the guy we’re trading with.” He offers the kid a smile. “Any inside tips on how to deal with Lynd? He a reasonable guy or does he like to drive a hard bargain?”

Something flickers across the kid’s face, like Prauf struck a nerve somehow, but he steps backward, shrugging. “He’s smart. He knows what he wants but he also knows a fair trade when he sees one. He should give you your parts.”

Prauf smiles, genuinely relieved at the prospect of avoiding prolonged negotiations. He’s been sent away on errands before, mostly to provide the technical knowledge to back-up Dren’s slimy chatter, but he’s always happier back at Vichas than out in another scrapyard.

“Great,” he says. “Thank you.”

The kid watches him, still suspicious, and Prauf holds out a hand. “I’m Prauf, by the way. This is Dren, from our comms team. He does the talking, I check the parts are good.”

Despite looking at it like it’s some kind of trap, the kid takes his hand and gives it a quick shake. “Cal. I, uh- I work the bar.”

Prauf can feel Dren perk up at that. For a guy who gets paid to talk, he’s strangely fond of getting too drunk to form coherent sentences.

“Maybe we’ll stop by later,” Dren says, friendly but with a clear note of finality. “But for now, we better get moving. I’m sure Lynd’s a busy guy; we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

It’s punctuated by a firm pat to Prauf’s arm and Prauf reluctantly yields. 

“Thanks, Cal,” he says with a last nod in the kid’s direction as Dren shepherds him down the hallway and into the small waiting room in front of the overseer’s office.

Despite being in such a hurry earlier, the kid doesn’t move from his position in the corridor and Prauf feels his eyes on him right up until they move through the door and out of sight.

——

Prauf is pleased to find the kid was accurate in his assessment of Lynd.

The Dalacond yard isn’t exactly known for its rule of law — Prauf’s heard stories of even the most hardened guild representatives giving it a wide berth — but while it isn’t a stretch to picture Lynd being cruel to his workers, he’s pragmatic enough when faced with Dren and his best attempts at charm.

The negotiations go surprisingly well. The parts that Lynd has are good quality, the carbon plating barely showing any signs of wear, and after a long afternoon of negotiating, Lynd agrees to part with them for just under two-thirds of the maximum that Dren and Prauf were authorized to spend. The shipping crates are loaded up by nightfall ahead of their departure the next morning and, flush with success, Dren settles in at the closest bar for the evening with a reluctant Prauf in tow.

The bar’s decent enough, although so clearly targeted towards a clientele of foremen and supervisors that Prauf can’t help but feel out of place. Dren shows no such hesitation as he quickly works through four cocktails and ends up deep in conversation with a good-looking ferroan, and so Prauf is left to nurse his own drink as he watches his surroundings.

The accuracy and efficiency of the droids behind the bar is as hypnotic as always, but it’s the servers who hold Prauf’s attention (and if he’s honest, one server in particular). There’s three of them: a female sarkhai, a male pandoran, and then Cal, the red-headed human Prauf ran into earlier.

They clear and clean tables as well as serve food and drinks, but from what Prauf can tell, most of their job seems to involve letting themselves be groped and fondled by drunk patrons. 

The sarkhai and pandoran take it well, offering customers smiles and drinks in exchange for touches and tips, but Cal seems less comfortable in the role, flinching as a customer grabs his ass roughly and struggling to keep his expression neutral when another cups him through the front of his pants.

The punters don’t seem to care, with some looking happier at Cal’s unwillingness than they do at the others’ acquiscence. Prauf resists the urge to intervene but he can’t help the feeling of relief when Cal finally extricates himself from the grasp of a handsy zabrak and ducks into the back of the bar, calling out something to one of the droids about a break.

Prauf’s relief is replaced by concern, however, when three nearby humans get to their feet and he catches snippets of their conversations.

“-back there?”

“-been avoiding us all evening.”

“-check in on the whore, make sure he’s behaving himself.”

The three of them seem out of place, all in the uniform of regular scrappers rather than supervisors, but they don’t seem fazed by the haughty glances from their superiors as they meander through towards the back rooms of the bar, laughing amongst themselves. They’re big guys, not as tall as Prauf but strong and well-built, and even as Prauf gets up to follow them, he’s not confident in his ability to take all three of them down if it came to a fight.

He hears sounds of a scuffle ahead of him as he makes his way silently through the hallway and he catches sight of a flash of movement through a half-open door. 

Inside the small room, Cal drops to his knees with a groan of pain, arm curled across his stomach, and Prauf sees him look up at the man towering above him. “Dace, please-”

The man — Dace, presumably — raises his hand. Cal flinches, braced for the blow, but Prauf frowns when Dace just laughs instead. 

“Looks like Lynd’s got you well-trained, huh?” He grips Cal’s jaw, tilting his head up and prodding at the bruise around his eye. “You used to be terrible at seeing things coming.”

Cal shakes his head free of Dace’s grasp but, surrounded by the other two men, he doesn’t move from his knees as he asks, “What do you want?”

Dace shrugs. “Just checking in on our favorite stray. You know Jerle lost four fingers last week? Machinery keeps snarling up without a picker.”

Guilt flashes across Cal’s face. “You know I didn’t have a choice about leaving. I was getting too big anyway-”

He’s cut off when Dace kicks him hard in the stomach and Cal doubles over, coughing. 

Prauf frowns as he starts to piece it together. A picker is a rough job, being sent crawling into tight spaces and underneath heavy machinery to clean up or unblock a jam. It’s a role usually reserves for purpose-built droids or smaller species like dugs, and while Prauf’s knowledge of human development is hazy, he’s pretty sure a human wouldn’t be able to fit through those tiny gaps.

Not an adult one, at least.

Back inside the break room, Dace has a hand in Cal’s hair as he pulls his head back and taunts, “Oh, right, I forgot. Man, it must be so hard just having to spread your legs for a living instead of doing any real work.”

Cal presses his lips together, cheeks reddening with shame, but he doesn’t respond as Dace continues, “You think we’d get some gratitude for taking you in. For putting a roof over your head right up until you decided to whore yourself out to the overseer. But no. No extra pay, no stolen supplies, not even a quick fuck for me and the guys.”

Cal shakes his head. “I can’t! Lynd has to approve everyone; I don’t get a choice!”

“You hear that?” Dace says, looking between his two friends. “We’re not good enough for him.” He slaps Cal mockingly across the face. “The slut only puts out for supervisor dick now. How much does Lynd charge for you, huh?”

Cal shakes his head again. “I don’t know. Please-”

Dace nods and Cal collapses to the ground when one of the men behind him drives a fist into his kidney. The other follows with a kick to his ribs and as Cal curls up on the floor to try to protect himself, Prauf can’t watch any longer.

He stumbles as he pushes the door open, glancing around the room with feigned confusion as he slurs, “Hey, this isn’t the bathroom…”

The three men pause, pulling back from where Cal is lying crumpled on the ground, and Prauf looks between them as he asks, making his best attempt at appearing drunk, “You fellas know where the bathroom is? I could’ve sworn someone said it was this way…”

“Wrong door, pal,” Dace says, before glancing over at his friends. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The other two men shove past Prauf as they make their way out. Dace pauses by a table where a bowl of what looks like stew rests next to a spoon, and a cruel smirk crosses his lips as he purposefully knocks it off the table. 

The food tips onto the ground, splashing across Cal’s clothes and skin as it falls, and Dace gives Cal a wink as he says under his breath, “Better stay nice and hungry for Lynd’s cock, right, whore?”

He knocks his shoulder against Prauf’s as he pushes past him, heading back out into the bar, and it’s all Prauf can do not to punch him in the face. 

His chest tightens with sympathy when Cal pushes himself slowly back to his feet, grimacing as he inspects his now-filthy clothes, and Prauf drops the drunk act to ask, “You okay, kid?”

“I’m fine,” Cal says. He’s wearing the same neutral expression as when someone tried to shove a hand down his pants earlier that evening and so Prauf isn’t overly convinced. “The, uh. The bathroom’s just down the hall. Second door on your left.”

Prauf hesitates. “Were they friends of yours? Do I need to call security or something?” He frowns. “Do you even have security here?”

Cal manages a tight smile. “It’s nothing. Enjoy your evening.”

It’s said as a dismissal but Prauf lingers in the doorway a moment longer. The growl of Cal’s stomach is loud in the relative quiet of the room and he ducks his head in embarrassment as he goes to retrieve a cloth to wipe up the chunks of meat and sauce on the ground. 

Never a fan of missing meals, Prauf frowns as he asks, “Wait, was that your food?”

Cal’s silence is as good as an answer and Prauf takes in just how skinny he looks as he says hopefully, “Can you get seconds, or…”

“Two meals a day,” Cal says, and finally a hint of bitterness starts to creep into his voice. “Guess I should be more careful.”

Prauf takes a step forward. “I- I can buy you another? If you want? Dren managed to talk his way into this per diem, and-”

“Look,” Cal interrupts, “if you want to fuck me, talk to Lynd. I meant what I said to those other guys; I don’t get to choose this stuff. I just do what I’m told.”

“Oh,” Prauf stammers, “no, no. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then what do you want?” Cal asks. He sounds exhausted as he looks up at Prauf, his black eye dark against his pale skin. “If you’re looking for more information on Lynd, I can’t help you.”

“I don’t want anything,” Prauf says honestly. “You just- I thought you might be in trouble.”

Cal’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “This is Dalacond,” he says flatly. “Most people here are in trouble.”

“Not all yards are as bad as this one,” Prauf says. “You ever think about moving?”

“Oh, sure,” Cal says sarcastically. “With all those spare credits I have, right?” 

He sags, shoulders slumping, and shakes his head. “Sorry. That was- I’m sorry.” He looks down at his ruined clothes. “I need to get back to work.”

He heads towards the door, towards Prauf, and Prauf steps out of the way to let him pass. Rather than turning back to the bar, Cal heads down the hallway in the opposite direction but pauses in front of a doorway as he says quietly, “Thank you.”

Prauf frowns. “For what?”

“For interrupting them when you did,” Cal says. “This job doesn’t get any easier with a couple of broken ribs.”

“No problem,” Prauf says. “If there’s anything else I can do…”

Cal looks at him like he’s grown a second head but just shakes his head with a small smile, the first real one Prauf has seen from him all evening. “Have a good night, Prauf.”

——

The rest of the night isn’t exactly what Prauf would call good.

Being surrounded by his superiors is rarely a fun time but it’s made worse by the fact that he isn’t at Vichas and can’t even retreat to his own bed. Dren seems to be making headway with the ferroan and Prauf settles for keeping an eye out for more trouble once Cal emerges from the back again with damp hair and in a fresh uniform. 

The three humans don’t make a reappearance and most of the patrons of the bar seem more interested in sleeping it off than hitting on their servers, and by the time Prauf heads upstairs to his rented room, he’s relatively confident of a peaceful night for all concerned.

However, he’s never been a particularly heavy sleeper and when he’s awakened hours later by a noise from the bar downstairs, he can’t help but picture the worst.

Tugging his clothes back on, he picks up the biggest wrench in his toolkit then leaves Dren and the ferroan snoring happily in the next room as he creeps downstairs. 

He hears a shout from below, a voice choking out a plea before it’s instantly muffled, followed by the thunk of something colliding with furniture and a stifled cry of pain. 

It doesn’t take much for him to guess at what’s happening, but as he continues down the stairs, eyes adjusting to the lack of light, he tries desperately to come up with an alternate explanation. Maybe it’s a shakedown with some local thugs hitting the owners up for money; maybe it’s a couple of drunks having a scuffle on their way home; or maybe it’s one of the other servers having an entirely consensual hook-up with a partner after dark.

However, his fears are soon confirmed, and then immediately surpassed, when his eyes pick out Cal in the darkness. Prauf isn’t surprised to see the three men from earlier, freshly liquored up and apparently even angrier than before, but far from giving Cal a beating, two of them have him pinned face down against a table while the third one, Dace, pulls Cal’s pants down over his ass.

“You think we didn’t notice you flirting with that engineer?” Dace hisses, voice barely audible above Cal’s muffled protests. “You put out for a scrapper, you’re going to fuckin’ start with us, kid.”

Cal’s fighting as much as he can, struggling against the hold and doing his best to kick out, but underfed and outnumbered, he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Hey!”

The three of them start in surprise at the shout and Prauf draws himself up to his full height as he storms down the stairs, wrench raised. “What the fuck are you doing down here?”

One of the two men holding Cal down bolts instantly, barreling through the door and out into the street, and the second one looks between Dace and his departing friend as he curses, “Shit.”

Taking advantage of the distraction, Cal lashes out, catching Dace with an elbow to the jaw and wrenching himself out of the grip of the other man. He isn’t quite quick enough to get out of reach though, and he cries out past the rag that’s been stuffed in his mouth when the second man grabs his hair and slams his head so hard into the table that Prauf is surprised it doesn’t break.

Prauf picks up his pace, moving toward the two men at speed, and Dace barely ducks in time to avoid the swing of Prauf’s wrench. The other guy isn’t so lucky and he howls in pain when the wrench slams into his shoulder with a sickening crunch of bone.

“What the fuck?” Dace starts, fury building, but as Prauf towers over him, he gulps hard and visibly starts to reconsider.

Beside him, his friend is wheezing with pain and Dace grabs him by the good shoulder as he says, “Fuck, we gotta move.”

Prauf threatens another swing, letting out a menacing growl as Dace yelps in terror and hurries for the door, his friend staggering after him. 

The door swings shut as Cal slumps to the ground, and Prauf drops the wrench in an instant as he crouches beside him. “Kid? You with me?”

There’s blood smeared across his face, enough that Prauf can’t even tell how injured he is in the dark, but he gets an answer when Cal pulls the makeshift gag out of his mouth and gasps for air. He’s shivering, tremors running through his thin shoulders, and Prauf realizes for the first time that he’s half-dressed, that the men most likely hauled him out of bed like this without giving him a chance to fight back.

“T-Thank you,” Cal stammers, and as he raises a hand to his face, Prauf isn’t sure whether he’s wiping away blood, tears or both. “I didn’t- They-”

“It’s all right,” Prauf says, trying to make his voice as soft and non-intimidating as possible. “They’re gone.”

Cal nods, still breathing hard, and Prauf holds a hand out. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Can you stand?”

Another nod, this time accompanied by Cal pushing himself to his feet. He doesn’t take Prauf’s hand but once he tugs his pants back up to cover himself, he falls into step behind him as Prauf leads him back upstairs.

Glad to have insisted on his own room (to avoid the smell of Dren’s feet if nothing else), Prauf flicks the light on and motions for Cal to sit on the bed before he goes rummaging in his pack for supplies. 

He hears the door close and the floor squeak before he finally locates the healing stim buried beneath his pair of emergency socks. 

He turns around with a triumphant grin. “Found-”

Cal is on his knees in front of the bed. 

He keeps his eyes lowered in submission, not looking at the stunned expression that Prauf knows is on his face, and he asks quietly, “Did you want to start with my mouth, sir?”

“No!” Prauf says vehemently and hurries forward before Cal can offer him anything else in place of his mouth. “God, no.”

He crouches in front of him, unsure of what to do or say to avoid any further misunderstanding. “Look, I don’t want anything like that, okay? I brought you up here so I could patch you up but if you want to go someplace else, then that’s fine. I’m not about to-” He grimaces, shuddering at the implication of everything that was just offered. “I’m not like that. You get me?”

Cal doesn’t look at him. He curls in on himself, a pink flush of shame spreading over his bare chest, and he sounds wretched when he mumbles, “I- I’m sorry.”

“Just sit on the bed,” Prauf says, pressing the stim into his hand, “and use that. Hopefully that should take the edge off.”

He turns back to his gear, hearing the relieved sigh that escapes Cal’s lips when he uses the stim, and he pulls out a spare shirt which he tosses over to Cal. It’s huge on him, falling down almost to his knees, but as Cal gladly tugs it on, Prauf figures that an ill-fitting shirt is a definite improvement on being able to count the kid’s ribs from across the room.

The healing stim is already starting to work on his head wound by the time Prauf approaches with a wet cloth, but he still uncovers fresh cuts and bruises as he cleans off the worst of the blood. Cal is docile beneath his hands in a way that makes Prauf deeply uncomfortable and he tries to keep his touches clinical as he wipes the last trickles of blood from his chin.

There’s no good way to ask the next question and so, like a coward, Prauf takes the indirect approach. “Are you, uh, _hurt_ anywhere else?”

Thankfully Cal catches on immediately and, even more thankfully, he shakes his head. “No. I mean, my ribs hurt but the stim’s already helping with that. They didn’t- You stopped them before things went too far.”

As far as Prauf’s concerned, everything about Cal’s situation seems to have already gone too far but he doesn’t press the point. “You think they’ll come back?”

Cal gives a lopsided shrug. “Maybe? Dace is pretty persistent with people who owe him one. I’ll talk to the overseer about it tomorrow. He should be able to do something.”

“Right,” Prauf says. “And is that because Lynd’s worried about your safety or because he’s worried about people using you without paying him?”

It’s a low blow and when Cal’s head snaps up, Prauf is braced for the anger aimed in his direction.

No retort comes though and Cal’s anger seems to be extinguished as quickly as it ignited when he looks back down at his hands. “Does it matter? Protection is protection; I’ll take what I can get.”

His stomach rumbles as he speaks and Cal shifts, embarrassed. Prauf didn’t pack much in the way of supplies but he grabs a stick of jerky from one of his side pockets and hands it over to Cal.

“You don’t need-”

“Just eat it, kid,” Prauf says. “God knows when you last had a decent meal; please don’t start turning down my cheap snacks.”

He can see how much restraint it takes for him not to just tear through the jerky and he smiles as Cal eats slowly, relishing every bite. 

Prauf leans against the dresser and broaches the next topic as carefully as he can. “You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said you should think about moving to a different yard. Sure, the work’s hard and the guild can be assholes about pay sometimes, but what Lynd’s got you doing here? That isn’t normal.”

Cal swallows. “I know,” he admits. “I worked as a picker for a while after Dace’s crew found me but I started getting too big to fit where I needed to go. I started working in the canteen too — just to pay for my keep, you know? — but then Lynd found me and I…” He looks down. “I didn’t have any other option.”

“I know,” Prauf says with sympathy. “And I’m not judging you for it. I just- There are alternatives out there. If you want them.”

Cal eyes him up. “What are you, a cutter?”

“Used to be an engineer,” Prauf says ruefully. “But yeah. I’m strong enough to handle most of the machines they got. We’re always looking for good recruits though, all across the yard. Get some more meat on your bones and you might make a good rigger.”

Cal smiles. “Always did like climbing.”

“There you go,” Prauf says, flashing him a grin. “We’ll make a rigger of you yet.”

Cal’s smile fades. “I can’t. Even if I could get away from Lynd, I can’t afford-”

“I got a train leaving first thing tomorrow,” Prauf says. “Headed straight to Vichas yard. The crates are packed full of the parts that we came here to trade for but you know how it is with these things. There’s almost always room for a stowaway or two.”

Cal stares at him, disbelief slowing giving way to hope as he says, “Are you saying I could-”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything,” Prauf says, holding his hands up. “I’m just stating some facts, that’s all. Like how the train moves fast enough that it’s only a couple of hours journey back to Vichas from here. And how there’s a rigger job open in my unit at the moment.”

He can see the wheels turning as Cal weighs up the risks. “Lynd…”

“Is a piece of shit,” Prauf says, grinning when Cal looks at him in surprise. “Like I said, just facts. I’m not going to say the overseer at Vichas is all smiles and sunshine, but she runs a tight ship. Wouldn’t let any of this crap fly over there and definitely wouldn’t tolerate people like Lynd muscling in on her business.”

Cal’s mouth sets in a determined little line as he looks up at Prauf. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I get it,” he says, smiling slightly. “I get your ‘stated facts’. What time does your train leave?”

“Early,” Prauf says. “Right after dawn. I think crate C17 had the most space in it last time I checked.” 

Cal nods, committing it to memory. He sways a little as he stands up, swamped by Prauf’s shirt, but the head wound is looking better already. 

He goes to pull the shirt off but Prauf holds a hand up. “Keep it.” His eyes meet Cal’s and he gives him a knowing grin. “You can give it back to me once we get home.”


End file.
